Warhammer Age of Sigmar: Shadow of the Dawnbringer

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Wellaz92

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Prologue

It had begun simply enough with a message, a message from the God-King himself and his allies in Azyr, addressed to the self-titled Light-King of Xintil, Theocritus himself. Requesting that this so-called benevolent monarch, was to cease and desist his madness, and end what had turned the once idyllic paradise, into little more than a tyrant’s plaything, the response had been a perfect example of the barbarism that he now displayed, the heads of twenty peasants, their tongues cut from their mouths and eyes gouged out of their skull’s and carefully delivered to the great gates of Azyrheim via horse and cart.
That had been the lit match that had sparked Sigmar’s vengeful wrath, from that day, the kingdom of Xintil had been declared in a state of open rebellion, with the permission of the ascended twins, Tyrion and Teclis, the holy might of the one of the largest Dawnbringer Crusade’s ever mustered, had marched forth from the gates of Azyr in an effort to retake those lands claimed by the king. That had been eighteen months ago, eighteen months of nothing but the cacophony of agony and endless bloodshed that warfare brings, and in that time, Victor and his men had served diligently under the command of the less than competent, Lord General Willem Ludendorff. Victor had followed every order to the letter, as had the thousands of humans, aelves and duardin who now cluttered the corpse filled no man’s land that lay in front of the cursed city of Corythia.
“By Sigmar, it is cold!” exclaimed Victor, as he kissed the Coin of Malleus decorating his neck, clasping his teeth in a futile attempt to stop the shivering that now enthralled him. The heavily quilted gambeson and finely stitched violet tabard bearing Sigmar’s sigil, were doing little to alleviate the morning chill from the freezing fog and the surrounding ground frost. Irrespective of all this, the cold was of little concern in contrast to the trench Victor and his brothers found themselves in, the dugout they had called home for many a month, was now little more than a mud caked and plague-ridden cesspool, in which the carelessly placed large planks of blisterbark wood, had done little to ensure that the feet of those confined within the trench’s relative safety, from rotting and decaying, whilst incased in their filth ridden boots. Even those timbers had begun to show the telltale signs of damp and rot, the reek of which seemed to be becoming greater by the day.
“I’ve never known a winter so cold; it is as if the realm itself is chastising us for our vindictive quarrels” said Leo, unsheathing the sword he had so wonderfully titled Death’s Grip from its scabbard in an attempt to free it from the frost that had caused the blade to stick with an embracing bite.
“You believe the realm itself shows us ill favor to our Sigmar’s cause, brother?” smirked Victor, knowing full well his most trusted lieutenant would take his remarks in jest. At the start of the crusade, Victor and Leo had found themselves standing shoulder to shoulder in the battleline with no rank or authority to their name, that seemed like a lifetime ago now. Since then, Victor and Leo had gradually laboured their way up the ranks, through valorous acts of daring merit, or in most cases, the demise of a senior officer with no one to substitute them. The certain reinforcements of six months ago had still failed to arrive, neither had the Knights of Azyr, whose fabled Angelos Conclave’s had been intended to lead the crusade through the realmgate and into Hysh itself, but due to a resurgence in chaotic rebellions across the eight realms, had failed to arrive. Nothing had succeeded in breaking the fortifications of Corythia once and for all, conceivably, worst of all, the gargantuan metalith’s that had been towed into position had the entirety of their provisions used during the deteriorating campaign, perhaps there was a tiny dark truth to Leo’s comments, maybe they merely weren’t meant to find the conquest they so urgently pursued.
“Not at all, you know as well as I do the despot must be deposed” replied Leo, smiling in return. But Victor couldn’t help but still feel a degree of truth to Leo’s comments. Notwithstanding the dangerous nature of the conflict at hand, without looking at the bigger picture that’s all this had boiled down too. A horrendous scar upon the perfect surface that was the idyllic realm of light. Laying before them in the distance, shrouded in the eerie morning mists, stood the city walls of Corythia itself. The fortifications themselves had been hastily constructed, a rapid answer to the impending assault that had descended onto the city, despite their hasty erection, the ramparts, bulwarks and parapets were created of flawless, oily black nullstone, a blatant attempt to nullify the crusade’s magic wielders in their entirety, and it had prospered effortlessly in its shadowy purpose.
“So much death, it’s a tragedy too see such a waste of life,” said Leo. The extended campaign here had exhausted all the joy from his usual jubilant character. The unwelcoming lands of Corythia now stood as a strangely fitting yet macabre monument to those who had fallen in Ludendorff’s attempts to take the cities walls.
The corpses of thousands in the snow lay frozen, their last expressions now perfectly preserved on their pale faces and the spilt blood now collected into ice-covered crimson pools of congealed blood from which an intoxicating miasma of metallic scents and rotting flesh now occupied the senses of those who were unfortunate enough to still be able to smell them.
“Had Ludendorff not been of noble stock, I believe his position would’ve been forfeit long ago” said Victor, recoiling away from the horror scape that lay before him.
“And where is the fat bastard this morning? Let me guess sat in his tent having his maidens draw him a bath while he drinks ale and eats more bloody cakes” replied Leo, trying to conjure a laugh out of Victor and the surrounding men. The city Corythia was what Ludendorff had described as the gateway to Xintil, paving the way for his forces to march into the lands of the ‘Despot King’ himself. However, what he had described as ‘a simple task that should take no longer than a month’ was far from the truth, the general had done nothing but thrown men and women aimlessly at the walls in an effort to break them, and it had fallen to the likes of Victor and Leo to take the initiative.
“Come on, the sappers should be ready by now” continued Leo, the duo stepped down from the sill of the trench’s woodwork, and into one of several specially excavated shafts that had been built especially for Victor’s plan. Where siege towers and artillery had failed, surely cunning will prevail.
“Any luck down there?” shouted Victor, quickly recoiling in surprise of the blackened face of the duardin that greeted him.
“You don’t have to yell I’m right here sir” responded the diminutive yet sturdy duardin known simply to Victor as Guldrin.
“Are the explosives in place and prepared?” asked Leo.
“Aye, we’re good to go, give me the signal to light the fuse and that slab of umgak rubble will be nothing but pile of smouldering fodder, no offense lads” snorted Guldrin, before quenching his thirst with a generous mouthful of ale from his spilling canteen.
“None taken, it is time then I assume?” said Leo eagerly, placing his helm firmly upon his head before any answer was given to him.
“Indeed, send word down the line” answered Victor, and with an unassuming nod of his head Leo acknowledged his captain’s command immediately, before swiftly turning to and walking with duty and purpose back down the trench to where his men awaited his command.
“Steady yourselves men, I am amongst you at this time, not as for my recreation or sport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live or die amongst you all; to lay down, for our god-king, and for our homes, and for our families, our honour and our blood.” Roared Leo at his men, stirring up as much vigour as he could muster, instilling it into those who now gazed to him for guidance.
“Good luck, sir” he smiled back at his captain, as he and his soldiers now moved with all haste too positions in anticipation as to what was to come.
“In our experience so far, there has been no such thing” replied Victor grimly, before nodding at Guldrin to light the fuse.
“Brace yourselves lads, there might be a few singed beards after this” laughed the duardin, as he placed a torch to the fuse. Both now watched down the tunnel, as the sparks disappeared into the gloom.
“Captain, you might want to get everyone to take cover!” shouted Guldrin, who had curled himself as tight as was possible into a ball in preparation for what was to follow.
“Get your heads do-
Before anyone could react, a great thunderous detonation, affected the vast majority of those souls unfortunate enough to be caught upright in the trench to be thrust backward, crashing hard against each other and the frozen ground as they did so, and deafening everyone in the process. Victor lugged himself to his feet, frantically struggling to gather his senses, and grasping his left ear in response to a sudden sharp pain that had arisen as soon as the blast had reached them, looking at the blood in his hand, he squinted through blurred vision at Guldrin in a state of shock and rage at what the duardin had triggered. Guldrin bellowed with laughter, yet no sound greeted him, it was evident the explosion had rendered deaf in at least one ear.
“I think it worked, have a look for yourself” chuckled Guldrin, placing his clenched fists on his waist and marveling at his work with a jovial smile upon his dirt encrusted face.
“You think it worked? You could of bloody killed us all you fool, are you half of wit as well as half of height? Who gave you the permission to place that many charges, tell me at once?” snarled Victor, his ears still ringing from the concussive force of the blast.
“You did sir, when you asked me to bring down that wall, besides, how do you think those urks are feeling, now that I’ve levelled half of their walls” shouted the duardin clearly at Victor, in an attempt to get his point across to the deafened captain.
“Take a look for yourself,” Guldrin drew attention with a calloused hand at what his charges had produced, he was right, the immense walls that had proved so impenetrable in the past, were now little more than smoldering craters, occupied with rubble.
“It worked, it bloody worked” gasped Victor in a state of delight and amazement.
“The walls are breached, come on men!” he yelled, hauling as many dazed men to his feet as he could before leaping out of the trench in a single bound and into no mans land.
“For Sigmar!” bellowed Victor, before charging at full speed in the direction of the breaches that now lay before him, an almighty roar came from those around as every man, woman, aelf and duardin expelled their pent-up frustration, and joined him in the charge to the city, each one of them, baring his teeth into a snarl that imitated the actions of the beast within each spirit. Victor barely broke his stride as he leapt forward, over and around the abundant corpses the siege had claimed, to his left in the corner of his eye, he could see Leo sprinting parallel to him, sword drawn and fully focused on his target.
The plan for all intents and purposes had worked, the city’s defenders had been caught seemingly unawares, and so far, had only mustered a few whistling arrows in any direction in response to the surprise attack that had greeted them.
“Keep moving!” he cried, knowing full well that he and his men must not get caught out in the open before the city’s occupants could formulate any response. With relative ease, Victor surged upwards onto the rubble in front of him, grabbing a large piece of the fallen masonry in an effort to haul himself to the top which stood a little taller than he.
As Victor reached the upmost heap, he stood in preparation for the steady drop down into the city, but before he could, he caught a glimpse of a scaled cloak through the still settling dust and smoke, a cloak that he knew around the entirety of the mortal realms had come to fill men with the utmost dread and terror. It had dawned on him how much peril he had led he and his soldiers into, Victor felt his stomach beginning to churn with fright, but before he could give any sort of warning to those men that had reached him at the top of the rubble, a hail of handbow bolts screeched through the air with levels of precision only aelven Corsairs could deal, and seemingly parting the very dust that filled the air around him. A hand pulled at his tabard, as a man shrieked in agony at the bolt now firmly lodged in his leg, before Victor could even think of helping the man to his feet and to safety, a second bolt found its target and embedded itself within the man’s eye socket, the impact had jolted the man’s neck backward, killing him instantaneously.
Victor leapt headlong into the path of the aelf, drawing his sword in both his hands above his head in an effort to close the gap between he and his quarry as swiftly as he could. And in one single motion, brought his sword downward, striking the aelf upon its slender shoulder and letting the weight and the impetus of his swing slice through its torso with ease. Victor quickly hauled it free from the fallen aelf’s flesh, just in time to parry away a lightning-fast strike from another of their dark kind, pushing the Corsair’s cutlass downward and back across the aelf, leaving the loin and right-hand side ribs of the Corsair visible, plunging his sword as deep as his strength allowed him, nary a noise or scream left the aelf’s open mouth, merely the gasp of expelled air leaving its dying body. Again, pulling his sword free from its fleshy prison, Victor felt a sudden dull pain down his side, followed by the same release of air from his lungs that had been the dying breath of his previous target as he keeled over onto his back. Victor grasped his ribs, wincing in pain as he felt the bolt of a handbow lodged firmly in his ribs, but before he could attempt to free the bolt himself, a looming shadow appeared over him and their stood the figure of the one who would grant him his warrior’s death, the last thing Victor saw and heard before closing his eyes, was the pail yet exquisite face of his killer, his teeth bared into a cheerful yet sinister smirk as he reveled in his victims exquisite agony, mouth dripping with blood and handbow drawn and aimed directly at his exposed throat.
“For Sigmar’s sake, let this be quick” whispered Victor to himself, hoping the malevolent corsair might heed his plea for a swift passing. Without forewarning, a vivid flash of light burst through the morning mists illuminating Victor’s surroundings, followed by a flash of fulgent lightning, striking the ground with the thunderous force of a mighty ground quake, blinding all those who caught a glimpse of its tremendous wrath, Victor felt the weight of an object hitting him and the warm spray of blood landing on his neck, face and upon his lips. Opening his eyes, Victor gazed at the most awe-inspiring sight he had ever laid his eyes upon.
“Pay attention lad, Sigmar won’t always watch over you!” cried the figure, standing over him where his aelven corsair killer had once stood, clad in a bastion of purest sigmarite armour, coloured with the deepest blue and the richest of golds and draped in cloak of the purest white silk, stood the towering figure of one of the renowned Vanguard-Hunters of the Knights of Azyr.
“Who gave you the order too attack” said the Eternal, his quiet tone failing to match the snarling expression his helmet bore.
“General Ludendorff my lord, he told us to bring down the walls by any means necessary” spat Victor, saliva trickling down his stubbled chin as he gulped for air.
“Do you wish to know the name of your killer young man?” said the figure, loading his stormbolt pistol.
“Y-you killed him my lord, th-thank you, please may I ask what I-
“No, I’m speaking about me”
“W-what, p-p-please my lord, what have I done to deserve this?”
“Nothing, you’ve served your general and your god-king well, but that wound will be the end of you” he muttered softly, levelling his pistol at the now cowering Victor.
“It is fine my lord; it barely left a scratch”
“Yes, you are quite right, under normal circumstances you would survive such an injury, the problem lies in the bolt in your stomach” he said casually. Victor looked down to see the bolt in question, blood gushing from the wound, he wiped his chin noting that it had not been his own spittle he had been salivating, but blood, and a large measure of blood at that.
“Please, we have mages in the baggage caravans to the back, surely their expertise-
“I do not possess the time to get you to such safety for treatment, I have been tasked with taking this city, more to the point, the vast amount of blood you have lost means you also do not have the time”
“No wait please” he uttered, clasping the Coin of Malleus round his neck, in an attempt for his pleas to be answered by anyone who would listen.
“Hush now soldier, for my name is Atrayos, and you shall find peace in sigmar’s embrace,” those were the last words Victor ever heard.









Chapter I

Tantalion strode into the chamber of arms with the captivation all of his kin possessed, his gigantic crested helm placed firmly under one arm and mighty angelic wings of holy light spread a far for all to see, those nearby enough to note the stoic Knight-Azyros enter, bowed as swiftly as they could. The chamber itself was awash with activity, carved of the purest of white alabaster and immersed in a flickering, soft blue light, from the many overhead lanterns and candles, that were placed around the room, as the Knights of Azyr’s serfs, priests and artificers darted from place to place in a seemingly confused commotion. Despite the pandemonium the chamber held, each man knew exactly his purpose, as matter of the fact, the only ones who appeared to be doing little in terms of seemingly medial tasks, were the Stormcast themselves, as they allowed the mortal residents of the chamber, to go about their work until its completion, hymns were being sung, prayers offered, weapons blessed and the substantial sigmarite armour fastened into place.
“Over here Tantalion” cried the voice of Lord-Celastant Pausaniax, waving him over to a table, Tantalion walked over to where he stood and bowed his head.
“You summoned me my lord” said Tantalion, his gaze firmly locked on the back of his lord’s head, as he gazed at what seemed to be a map of the city of Corythia in the Realm of Hysh.
“A messenger arrived in the night” said Pausaniax, his fingers running along the edge of the map, as if he was endeavouring to discover some sort of meaning or divination on the parchment he pawed at.
“About the campaign sir?” he inquired, observing his fellow brothers, who had begun to gather their weapons, before proceeding to the vast arched entranceways at the rearmost wall of the chamber.
“Worse, it would appear that our message to Ludendorff, to hold off the attack until our arrival did not reach it’s intended recipient” continued Pausaniax.
“How exactly?” asked Tantalion.
“A rider was dispatched from the weaveweld spire with our communication several weeks ago, he’s failed to return, and those that have, reported back with abnormal sightings under the cover of the dark”
“You believe there is another party in play?”
“I don’t believe so, I know so, the messenger who arrived this morning with this new found information was sent as a pair, to ensure that the message got through, he says something in the night, took his fellow rider, I fear the crusade is walking into a trap.”
“If what he says is true, then we must move with all due haste” said Tantalion, before placing on his helmet and marching for the archways himself.
“You must know Tantalion, Atrayos is already on the move to the city, prevent the attack from taking place, or if we are too late, then ensure that the city is ours.”
“Yes, my lord.” The news his subordinate, had already joined battle, did not sit well.
“I am to remain here, Sigmar’s orders” nodded Pausaniax, before taking his leave. Tantalion now stood inside a large dome like structure of solid gold, inside which stood the mighty members of the Angelos Conclaves he would now lead into battle.
“We are the light, that burns the way!” he bellowed, raising his sword above his head, and spreading his angelic wings for all to witness.
 

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